


Bittersweet

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Angst and Fluff, Introspection, homophobic behaviour, i guess, somewhat implied pairing, themes of sexuality, they all love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 11:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18849826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: They had taken a chance with Pacho, seeing potential in him that he hadn’t necessarily seen in himself. They trusted him enough to allow his growth within the business without too much restriction, and it was something he was thankful for. He no longer had to fight tooth and nail to get what he wanted and could now instantly demand respect.





	Bittersweet

The average person can usually vaguely recall their list of firsts; first kisses, first dates, the first time they have sex, their first house. Landmarks of a life well lived, memories of people that may be a distant memory or a constant part of your life. For some people, the memories are resoundingly positive in most aspects, full of naivety and innocence, a shift from adolescence to adulthood. Reminders of where someone has come to truly mark where they are currently and where they intend to be. Others weren’t so lucky, with firsts that were marred by a multitude of personal issues, toxicity and melancholy. These were the people who tended to focus primarily on the current and ignore the past.

Pacho Herrera can remember a lot of his firsts, of course. It benefited him to be fully aware of his weaknesses and how they may present later on in life, as a possible weapon against him. His first kiss had been rather representative of how the rest of his firsts had gone. He can recall somewhat the faded wallpaper of his childhood room, the posters adorning the wall, the dark curtains. The boy, equally bright-eyed and curious, sitting across from him on his bed. There’s a vinyl playing softly in the background, a song Pacho has refused to listen to since, that used to be his favourite. He can still remember the way he’d shook slightly when the boy had crawled forward to kiss him delicately, both of them uncertain but enthusiastic in their curiosity. The validation he’d felt in the moment, with soft lips pressed against his own, was forever marred when the door swung open.

The disgust and fury on his father’s face, an expression he’s grown more familiar with, is one that he has become less horrified and scared of. But back then it had been enough to freeze him to the spot, the colour drained from his face and the anxiety swallowing his stomach whole.

Words were spoken on that day that he would never forget, words that he carried with him everywhere.

_You’ll never be anything. There is no place in this world for men like you._

He’d never seen the boy again, never managing to find out exactly what had happened to him and not particularly wanting to find out and run the risk of being associated with him again. At the age of only sixteen he’d left home, leaving a younger brother behind that was sweet and trusting enough to listen when Pacho said he wasn’t abandoning him. But he did have to find somewhere in the world for himself, not intending to grow old unfulfilled and shameful. There were naturally, very few options for someone in his position. It hadn’t been hard for him to utilise the attributes he’d always had, finding comfort in the knowledge that his past was his own and private.

Smuggling was hardly the most difficult occupation for someone who could be naturally charming, personable and persuasive. He’d always attracted a certain type of attention, using it to his advantage to be successful in a way that many others failed to be due to an inability to be patient. If he wanted to stay successful, he had to stay alive and make all of his hard work count. Connections were important in any drug trafficking trade and he had always maintained a good habit of being consistent with those he trusted or needed. For years he’d established these connections and kept branching further out, stepping up the ladder one rung at a time.

It was the way he’d met Gilberto and Miguel Rodriguez Orejuela.

Back then they were still in the early stages of building their empire, having only just moved on from trafficking marijuana, branching into the more lucrative business of cocaine. They still had more wealth than Pacho could have ever dreamed of, he could distinctly recall the house he’d been brought into and how he’d never before seen something so grand and lavish. One of the paintings they had hanging in their living room probably cost more than the entire apartment block that Pacho lived in.

 

_“We’ve been told you have connections in New York.” Gilberto sat drinking whiskey, motioning for Pacho to sit down across from him and his brother calmly._

_“I do.” Pacho replies, trying not to be distracted by his surroundings any more than he already is._

_“That is promising,” Gilberto nods to himself, as if he’s affirming something he’d already believed to be true, “tell me, do you think you or one of your connections would be able to get product into New York?”_

_“I think it would be rather easy.” Pacho’s tone is conversational, though his stomach is a pit of snakes. “The market is still relatively open in New York for cocaine.”_

_Gilberto laughs heartily, startling Pacho slightly as he bangs on the table. “Such self-assuredness!”_

_Miguel hums in agreement, looking amused himself. “I told you, Gilberto, these young men are dangerous.” Gilberto continues to chuckle quietly. “If we’re not careful, we’ll be considered an open market!”_

_Uncertain of what to say, given the circumstances, Pacho stares quietly and considers his options. If he’s here, it must be for a good reason, most likely because he’s been doing his job well. Yet, the potential for a fuck-up seemed always imminent, especially with him being sat in front of the two most important and influential people in Cali._

_“New York isn’t currently held by a particular group. The Americans fear heroin, not cocaine, for the time being.” Pacho spurs himself on to continue, reminding himself that with opportunity can come great success. “If you were to branch into New York now, it would prevent your competition from doing so and give you a head start with the market.”_

_“Well then,” Gilberto stands along with his brother, holding his hand out to Pacho, who shakes it firmly, “we best get started as soon as possible then.”_

 

They had taken a chance with Pacho, seeing potential in him that he hadn’t necessarily seen in himself. They trusted him enough to allow his growth within the business without too much restriction, and it was something he was thankful for. He no longer had to fight tooth and nail to get what he wanted and could now instantly demand respect.

The first time he meets Chepe Santacruz London͂o is at one of Gilberto and Miguel’s infamous parties, with traffickers from across Colombia all present and drinking. Pacho still found it rather amusing that there was rarely any violence at these events, with the mix of alpha-male syndrome and alcohol usually resulting in brawls. But then again, Gilberto wasn’t the type to advocate such behaviour at his parties, so those who wished to carry on benefitting from the Cali Cartel’s operation knew better than to run their mouth.

Not Chepe Santacruz, though. He was as lively as he was abrasive, though less in an insufferable way and more endearing. Blunt and wily, he rarely kept what he was thinking to himself and Pacho rather admired and loathed him for it. He sits by an empty poolside, legs in the water with his jeans rolled up, humming to himself cheerfully. He stops abruptly, as if noticing someone is watching him without even turning around, lying on his back and tilting his head backwards to stare at Pacho.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” he half sings, clearly drunk, “you must be Pacho. They didn’t tell me you were so _stylish_!”

Pacho snorts, trying not to humour the absurd behaviour but finding it hard not to laugh. “Yes.”

“Well, let me introduce myself.” He stands alarmingly fast for a man so inebriated, in front of Pacho in what was practically a blink of the eye. “I am José Santacruz London͂o, though my friends call me Chepe. Are we friends?”

“I suppose that’s up to you.” Pacho replies, shaking the hand he’s offered with a bemused look.

“Very careful answer!” Chepe chuckles, patting Pacho’s back. “You could have a career in politics!”

“I think I’d rather die.” He replies, laughing at the thought.

Chepe laughs so hard that for a second, Pacho thinks he’s gone deaf. “Wouldn’t we all?”

 

* * *

 

 

It takes him a while to realise just how close he’s gotten to these men over the span of a few years. Though he’s had many associates over the years who he might consider friends in the loosest terms, he’d never had much in the way of family or true and genuine friendship. He’d actively avoid those kinds of attachments, the intimacy and the contact. It was only after a stark moment of recognition that he realises Chepe is the first man he’s hugged since he was a boy, and the thought might scare him more than he likes to admit. Keeping his distance means that his secrets are only his, that nobody can see things in his gaze and in his actions that imply things that could get him killed, at the very least.

Claudio Salazar, it turned out, had other ideas.

It had only begun as a minor dispute between them both. Claudio was a proud and pig-headed man and he was naturally going to clash with Pacho, who preferred words to swift and unnecessary action, and did not feel that the loudest voice in the room was the most correct one. Where Claudio prided himself on violent retribution and expansion through a family network of hitmen; Pacho much preferred playing the long game, continuing to expand his connections and the cartel’s growth in America and Europe, even finding a Japanese chemist to refine their opium and purify their heroin.

Naturally, this came across as a threat to Salazar. For months he’d been trying to get his foot in the door for a meeting with Gilberto and Miguel, telling them his connections in Mexico could be beneficial to their enterprise. Of course, Gilberto and Miguel were entirely aware of the animosity North Valley held for them, with Salazar and his associates finding their legitimate combined with illegitimate business in Cali to be an insult to true criminal enterprise. When he did finally get the opportunity to sit down with them both, he saw his opportunity to eliminate his competition and took it.

_“Yes, but-,” Salazar attempts to grasp onto their already dwindling attention, Miguel with a vacant stare and Gilberto with an exasperated sigh._

_Chepe doesn’t even attempt to look engaged, fiddling with one of the drawstrings on his jacket absent-mindedly, completely oblivious._

_Gilberto raises his hand impatiently. “I’ve told you already, we aren’t ready to expand into Mexico yet. Colombia is still split evenly between us and the Medellin Cartel, and we cannot run the risk of sacrificing what we do have based on wild presumptions.”_

_“It’s not a presumption!” Salazar looks indignant, and when Pacho, leaning against the wall and silent up until this point laughs, it seems to be the final straw._

_“Tell me, Gilberto,” he spits, Chepe dropping the drawstring to stare up at Salazar immediately, “are you in the habit of employing lesser men?”_

_“What exactly do you mean?” Gilberto sounds more irritated than threatened, watching Salazar with cautious eyes._

_“Perhaps if you spent more of your time looking at who you employ, you’d realise they weren’t fit for the job.” Salazar stares at Pacho, and he knows deep down what is about to happen. He’s seen that look before, on his father’s face, many years ago. “Why don’t **you** tell them, Pacho?”_

_“Will you spit it out, already?” Miguel sighs, putting his drink down with a clatter._

_“Perhaps the reason your beloved Pacho has been so successful with establishing his connects in New York has something to do with his fondness for men. I’ve heard the American’s are more open to **that** kind of behaviour.” Salazar looks victorious, his stare practically challenging Pacho to disagree._

_His stomach has dropped and it’s like he’s sixteen again, staring at the huge shadow of his father in his doorway, feeling every inch of his skin crawl with disgust and shame. He’d denied himself for so long, been so careful, yet this had followed him even here._

_“Your point?” Chepe’s voice is gruff, his attention fully on Salazar now as he stands from his seat. “If you’re trying to imply he got over fifty connections by sleeping with every single one of them, then all I can do is admire his work ethic.”_

_Miguel snorts into his drink, guffawing._

_“Besides,” Chepe circles Salazar with eyes that are practically burning, “what makes you, an outsider, think that you can walk in here and tell **us** who is and isn’t worthy of our employment?”_

_“I have to agree.” Gilberto puts his glass down gently, standing and walking over to Pacho with purpose, patting his shoulder. “Pacho here is one of us. You, as it turns out, are not.”_

_“But-,” Salazar stares at Pacho with utter malice, “it’s a disgrace. It’s disgusting! You think that men will respect a man who does that?”_

_“Well you’re a little late, there, Salazar,” Chepe pats Salazar’s back so hard, he stumbles forward, “because any respect we had for you, although it was minute to begin with, flew out that window when you started talking.”_

_“So be it.” Salazar gives Pacho a lingering stare, a reminder that what he’s done here is probably just going to be a representation of their relationship from now on, before walking out of the door and slamming it shut._

_“Never did like him much.” Chepe says, shaking his head gruffly. “Can’t trust someone with that hair, eh, Pachito?”_

_The weight of the world that he’s been carrying on his shoulders seems to lessen, bit by bit, as Gilberto, Miguel and Chepe all descend on him with hugs and pats on the back. No demeaning, no veiled insults, no disgust. Not a hint of them only having rid themselves of Salazar just because it would inconvenience their work to remove Pacho, but more a genuine and warm acceptance, the kind he’s never had before. A family._

 

Salazar wasn’t the last person to attempt to jeopardise his position in the Cali Cartel, word spread quickly, after all. It didn’t help that the moment Pacho had earned his acceptance, he’d started caring less and less about the opinions of other men regarding his private life. That didn’t stop them from criticising him or gossiping, as it seemed to be something a lot of his business associates enjoyed doing. On one particular occasion, he’d been out drinking with a group of business associates. As habit dictated, Miguel and Gilberto sat speaking to the more esteemed guests, whilst Pacho and Chepe tended to socialise with the remainder, making their way across the bar to speak to them all. It benefitted them to know what their partners were up to, and alcohol was a perfect method for extracting the truth.

“Pacho,” one of the younger men beckons him, Luis, if he recalls correctly, “come, sit with us!”

Reluctantly, he sits at a table of rowdy men, wearily eyeing Luis for an explanation. He never did get along much with the hitmen of their associates’ group, finding them brash and arrogant in the way only needless violence makes a man. Luis smiles, a charming if not slightly disconcerting smile, before resting his hand on Pacho’s thigh. He tenses immediately, eyes narrowing dangerously as he pushes Luis’ hand from his leg none too gently.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” His voice is unwaveringly calm, but his demeanour is not. He can feel the rage tensing all of his muscles, so taut they were ready to snap when Luis laughs as though something is funny.

“What, Pacho,” he says mockingly, “am I not your type?”

The years of crafting a perfect mask has armed him for this moment, his facial expression neutral as he takes in Luis, who seems to be entertaining his men. They all stare at him, the way most men did when they heard of his inclinations, with glee at the implications of Luis’ brazen statement. It was as though they’d forgotten who they were speaking to.

As if on cue, Chepe’s face leans down over the back of the seat, over Pacho’s shoulder. “Here, baby-face,” he hands Pacho an empty bottle, “poke them with that.”

He smiles, turning his head to make eye contact with Chepe, who simply winks and walks away to the bar once more. Trusting him to handle his own business, not interfering and compromising his already delicate position in terms of respect. Luis is midway through a lewd joke, motioning to Pacho with his back turned, to a captivated audience.

 _Good,_ he thinks, _let them see what happens to men who mock me._

The music shifts, Chepe standing with glee near the speakers. His sense of humour was always an acquired taste, in Pacho’s opinion, and in this case he seems to have found it appropriate to play something as traditional as Dos Gardenias. Luis barely has time to turn before the bottle is smacked over his head with such force, the glass shatters everywhere, all over his now horrified audience. He stumbles, dazed, and Pacho swiftly takes his rings from the fingers of his left hand to punch him once in the face.

“No,” he says as he leans over Luis, bloodied and horrified, “you aren’t my type. The next time you touch me, you won’t have fingers.”

Gilberto’s voice comes over the speaker system, drunk and elated, “everyone can move to the dancefloor now!”

He can’t quite tell what is funnier in the situation. Luis being carted off by only two men, whilst the rest trudge over to the dancefloor being fully aware of the possibility of their removal if they kick up a fuss, or Gilberto, completely oblivious to the scuffle, midway through one of his speeches even as the music continues to play.

A hand on his back startles him from his thoughts, turning to face Chepe, who’s eyes crinkle. “I knew you’d have a flare for the dramatic.”

“You’re the one who handed me the bottle. What else was I supposed to do with it?” He smiles back, feeling the odd sense of security he usually does around the man. As though he’s never going to be thought of as lesser in Chepe’s eyes.

“Make a toast, of course!” Chepe throws his head back to laugh obnoxiously, to the bewilderment of people dancing nearby, “exactly as Gilberto would’ve.”

“Hm, I think not.” Pacho chuckles softly, nudging into Chepe playfully. “Though I’m not about to take your advice, either.”

Chepe snorts. “As if you’d be so lucky, Pachito. As if you’d be so lucky.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they make their first billion, he’s elated. Years in the making, years of hard work and risk, finally with proof that they were a force to be reckoned with. People rarely spoke out of turn to him now, those who dared to did only behind his back and never to his face. He has more than he ever dreamt he would all of those years ago, and he owed it all to the men who accepted him wholeheartedly and without question. When he walks into his house, laughably as he thinks it, one of his many houses, there are bags waiting in his bedroom. Wearily opening them, assuming Miguel probably saw fit to try and get him a matching suit as he’d drunkenly joked the other night, he sees a multitude of carefully folded silk shirts.

For as long as he can remember, he’d loved the notion of being presentable and well-dressed. It was, though, difficult for him to entirely surrender to his wants when every aspect of him as a person was under scrutiny for years. The men they kept company with saw anything of the sort as effeminate and laughable. The real laughable thing, Pacho thinks, is that he ever gave those thoughts any weight. When he slips on the first shirt, black and red, it is unbelievably light and smooth. The colours are captivating and remind him of the paintings he’s been slowly acquiring for his home, always favouring the richer colours blended into the darker ones.

“Well, well, well.” The voice catches him off guard, briefly, as he looks into the mirror to see Chepe standing behind him in the doorway. “I thought Pachito would never take my advice.”

“I suppose I didn’t think a man who wears such horrible clothing on a regular basis could actually have good taste.” Pacho laughs, running his hand over the other shirts, admiring the patterns and the luxury of them.

“You’ve come a long way.” Chepe’s voice is absent it’s usually bass-filled humour, the way it usually tilted towards a mix of threatening and amused suddenly absent. He’s serious, eyes staring at Pacho with alarming intensity. “I’m proud.”

Somehow, even though he’s heard Gilberto’s praises and Miguel’s approval, these words coming from him mean so much more. Not only because of his sincerity, the shift away from his usual jovial manner, but because he has always been a source of comfort and security. Where other men may have seen their silence about Pacho as acceptance, Chepe openly acknowledged him, protected him and was affectionate with him of his own volition. That meant more than anything one billion dollars could buy.

“Thank you.” Pacho says, unsure if he’s thanking Chepe for the shirts, the approval or the years of friendship and advice.

Chepe grasps him in a gruff hug, squeezing him tightly and laughing into his shoulder. “You’ve grown so much, Pachito,” he kisses him on the head, grinning, “you’re going to put us all to shame.”

His heart is full, his chest no longer heavy with negative expectations. A man he trusts unequivocally has told him exactly what he's needed to hear for so long.

Pacho smiles, eyes softening and walls crumbling. “Thank you, Chepe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I saw a post mentioning that everyone always hugs Pacho, but only give handshakes to each other, I couldn't stop thinking about it.  
> Also, this fic is half just general friendship and half almost 'implied' romantic feelings. I think Pacho, personally, would feel a strong sense of affection for a man who makes him feel so safe and loved. But that is up to reader interpretation!  
> I love Chepe and Pacho too much to care.  
> Any and all feedback always appreciated!


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